


Thinking Is Overrated

by DixieDale



Category: Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 05:20:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16696195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Waiting for the others to get back from their varied parts of the mission, Casino has plenty of time to think.  If he were so inclined.  Which he's not because, frankly, he thinks too much of that goes on as it is.  He's pretty much always felt that way, figured he pretty much always would.War years.





	Thinking Is Overrated

**Author's Note:**

> If the tone seems jarring, more than a little staccato, well, that's the way his mind was working just then. After all, deep thinking just wasn't his forte. As Goniff would remark, on more than one occasion, 'he just aint 'ad the practice at it, you know?'

Casino was alone, perched on that bale of hay in the loft, looking out that cracked upper door, waiting for the others. He wasn't surprised he was the first to make it back, but he'd thought Chief and Goniff would've pulled in not much after him, especially as slow as he was moving. Oh, well, things happened, anything could've slowed them down. No reason to think there'd been any real trouble; theirs had been a fairly straightford job, uncomplicated. 

Well, as much as any of these jobs were uncomplicated. Oh, they might start out that way, but somehow they rarely stayed that way. No, no reason to start thinking of all the things that could've gone wrong. Maybe he'd just think about that last letter from home, figure out what he was gonna say when he wrote back. Yeah, that was the ticket.

Course, he'd have preferred to be with them, for back-up, just in case, but that rough landing had him nursing a bum shoulder, maybe a couple bad ribs; woulda slowed them down too much. So they'd left him with the easy part, just a quick twiddling of the dials on that crackerbox the local mayor called a safe, while they stood guard, then him making his way back to the rendezvous point alone. Chief and Goniff had headed out to slip that lovely bit of incriminating evidence he'd gotten from the safe to where it would do the most good. Still, while Chief and Goniff's part was harder, since it involved being around people who spoke German when neither of them DID, it shouldn't have taken a hell of a lot of time, just some quick moving, some of that sticky finger work Goniff had down to a T. So, he was stuck here, waiting. 

Still, no reason to think they'd gotten themselves in trouble. Nope, he wasn't worried. Wasn't even gonna think about what might have gone wrong.

If he was gonna worry, it would make more sense to worry about Beautiful and the Warden; they had the real tricky part of the job, and Beautiful had mentioned he'd spent a lot of time in this part of the country. If the wrong person recognized him, saw past that disguise . . . Hell, why would anyone! It was a good disguise, and if anyone could pull a con, it'd be Beautiful! Nope, any minute now, well, at least in another hour or so, he'd see them making their way to where he waited for them. So it made no sense to go thinking anything had gone wrong. Not for any of them. 

Now, just what had his Mom said about Thanksgiving dinner this year, about who was supposed to show up? Had that louse of a cousin of his been invited? He kept telling his mom that Louie was nothing but trouble, but had she agreed not to invite him? He tried to remember, but found his attention wavering. 

Trouble, maybe they'd run into trouble.

He looked at his watch again, his jaw tightening, then turned his eyes away, back to surveying his surroundings, the approach the guys would use. He crossed to the other side of the hay loft, looked out a convenient chink in the wood, thinking maybe they'd have to come in a different way, if something had gone wrong. Just what could have gone wrong? He firmly stopped himself - nope, not going there.

That was part of the trouble with the world, as he saw it. Too much thinking. Too many people thinking, having too many different ideas, then thinking everyone ELSE should be thinking those same ideas, and getting all bent outta shape when they didn't, then trying to make them change what they were thinking. Yeah, too much thinking had a lot to answer for, the way he saw it. 

He made a point not to go in that direction, himself. Figured he saved himself a whole lot of problems that way. He was very linear, purposefully so. 

His mom used to scold him, telling him he needed to think more. She kept bringing up that time he'd almost got hit by that car, just because he was so zero'd in on that pretty Julie Ann in her tight jeans over on the far sidewalk; he never saw the car, just stepped right out into the street. Yeah, his mom had been bringing that up for like the past fifteen years, probably would for the rest of his life. Still, things like that didn't happen all THAT often, not enough to change the way he felt about all that deep thinking.

Not that he was against it totally, of course. Thinking, that is. Some thinking was necessary, he couldn't argue that. Problem was, as far as he could see, was that certain people either thought too much in general, or too much about things that just shouldn't take that much effort, or about things that weren't important enough to BE thinking about at all, or WAY too much about things you were better off not thinking about in the first place, or . . . Well, the list went on and on, as far as Casino was concerned.

He got up, stretched, moved to a different position on the hay bale, took another long searching look at the landscape outside. Nothing. He wished to hell they'd get their asses back here. 

He let his mind wander back to that odd conversation it seemed to be having with itself. Wasn't any stranger than a few he'd had with Goniff or some of the others, after all. He decided not to worry about it.

Thinking about some things, that was okay. Thinking about your family? No question. Thinking about a job? Sure. Thinking about ways to dodge the coppers? Of course. Thinking about how to get something going with that big-busted blonde he'd met up in London? Hell, yeah! 

But with these guys, the ones he'd ended up working with, sometimes he just had to shake his head. Just a prime example of way too much thinking going on!

Well, there was the Warden, thinking so hard and fast about so many different things at once, it made Casino's head ache. And not just about the job they were doing. Oh, no, not him! HE had to be looking around, thinking about what ELSE might be worth mixing into! Half the time or more, they'd be out on one mission, and by the time they got back, the Warden had turned it into three, maybe even four different jobs! They go out to steal some top secret plans, they end up blowing a bridge, maybe an ammo dump, maybe even putting the snatch on some hot-shot general! Sheesh!!! 

And still, with all that thinking? He couldn't seem to see the obvious flaws in his plans, couldn't see when they'd be better off just getting the hell outta there. Casino had seen that right off the bat, decided that was his job, to point out those flaws, and while it wasn't always appreciated, he knew damn well that they'd get their asses shot off if he ever stopped. 

Even after it was over, the Warden kept thinking. Thinking about what went wrong, what COULD have gone wrong. Then came the yelling. Shit, they could count on that, on the trip back, what they'd done wrong, screwed up on or came close to screwing up on, what they needed not to do again. That was one thing you could count on, for sure, that yelling.

Beautiful? Shit, he was always thinking, you could tell by that look on his face. Thinking about all kinds of things that didn't, in Casino's experience, have much to do with real life, books and music and art and shit like that, except HE called it 'literature' or 'symphonies', or 'architecture' or 'medieval history' or 'philosophy' or whatever, like giving it a fancy name made it more important. 

Cept when he was on a job; then he thought about the job, of course, but even then, he found a way to work in a lot of that shit. Be a hell of a lot quieter at the Mansion if the man would just shut up now and again. All that thinking led to lecturing, him just droning on and on. 

And if that wasn't bad enough, he'd start with the lecturing on 'his life experiences', like everyone didn't have a few of those, some a hell of a lot more interesting than what Beautiful seemed to think HIS were! To hear the man tell it, he'd been everywhere, knew everyone worth knowing, had 'known' every beautiful woman worth knowing. Yeah, so there had been some real good looking dames who'd shown up, granted. But even Actor had admitted one or two of those hadn't been what you'd call sane. If he was so smart, so good at deep thinking, why the hell hadn't he picked up on those nut jobs in the beginning, huh???! 

Goniff, at first glance, you had to wonder if he ever DID think, the way he acted the fool half the time and chattered like a monkey and all, but you'd be dead wrong. Think? Hell, that damn fool Limey could not only think, but way OVERTHINK a situation to the point to driving everyone crazy, especially when it involved Meghada, the redhead down at the Cottage, or, surprisingly, the Warden. 

Now THAT didn't make any sense, about the Warden; Casino was well aware of that. Sometimes wondered if there was something he was missing, but then he figured that was just Goniff being Goniff, trying to mother hen the Warden like he did everyone else. Didn't make a hell of a lot of sense, since Goniff could barely take care of himself most times, but just because something didn't make any sense, didn't mean it wasn't the way things were. 

But all that thinking just couldn't be good for the damned fool! Might end up scrambling what brains he had! Bowl of Casino's mom's spaghetti had fewer twists and tangles and turns than Goniff once he really got going with the heavy thinking! Nope, that wasn't for him, just too damned complicated.

Chief, now, he would have given a lot to know what Chief thought about, but the Indian wasn't giving anything away. Not by his face, his eyes. Half the time you didn't even know he was pissed til he drew that blade or took a swing at ya. 

Yeah, what Chief thought about was pretty much a mystery, one Casino was plenty curious about. Casino had to admit it might be a little scary; sometimes he was damned sure it would be. Sometimes it was a little scary just watching him, much less wondering what he was thinking. Him staring out that window all the time, like he was gonna grow wings and fly out into the open sky. Playing with that damned knife of his, running his fingers across the flat of it; hell, so much gentleness, so much controlled power was in that slow, even stroke. Casino was reminded of that beagle they'd shared space with that one time - remembered Chief holding the damned dog, hand stroking so gently, carefully. 

Casino shuddered, swallowed deeply, forcing his mind away from his memories of watching those fingers, that slow easy movement. Nope, not going there; that's just one of those things he was better off not thinking about. 

Shit! Where were they??! The Indian, the Limey, they were more than two hours past when they shoulda gotten back the last time he'd looked. They don't get their asses in gear, the Warden and Beautiful's gonna show up before they do! That'd get the Warden pissed, most likely. Most likely spend the whole trip back yellin at them, more than usual even. 

Course, they gotta get outta here before he can start any yellin. And that aint gonna happen til they GET here!

Another glance at his watch told him that Garrison and Actor were also overdue, well overdue. Pushing his thoughts, his worry aside, that was getting more and more difficult. Unbidden, the thoughts started rolling in, one after the other, of all the things that could have happened, could have gone wrong.

Movement in the distance brought him to sharp attention, and a long groan issued forth. "Shit!!!" Transport trucks, two of them, a couple a jeeps - German soldiers. Just what they all needed! He wondered if that was what was delaying the guys; that transport had been traveling the main road, and that ran between the barn and the nearby town where they'd been working the job. 

He had his pistol in his hand, reaching out to ease that upper door just a fraction more toward the closed position. He was just getting ready to head down that ladder, get to the ground in case he had to get out of there, if it looked like they were going to head up toward the barn.

But they didn't come much farther, stopped near a small clump of trees grouped right alongside the road. His blood chilled when three men in civilian clothes were dragged out of one of the trucks, being kicked and punched along the way, a blond, two with dark hair, now huddled on the ground,unmoving. 

The sight of a trio of soldiers throwing ropes over limbs of each of the largest trees had him skimming down the ladder faster than he ever thought he could, considering those ribs. He was too far away, he knew he was too far away, but he still had to try. The trucks and one of the jeeps headed on, leaving one jeep and a couple of officers, another three soldiers. The nooses were around the necks of the battered men, and he knew time was running out. 

Keeping down while running wasn't easy, but he managed. If he was to have any chance, which he knew in his heart he DIDN'T have a chance in hell but he wasn't letting that stop him, he had to get close without being spotted and picked off. Still, he was almost in range, almost . . .

The sudden firing up of the jeep, its quick movement forward of about twelve feet jerked the prisoners to their feet and then up into the air. Casino froze, collapsed to the ground. There was no longer any reason to hurry. From the angle of the men's heads, it was obvious their necks had been broken. The soldiers quickly tied off the ropes to another tree, leaving the bodies dangling. At a quick direction from the officer, a cardboard sign was pinned to the center body. 'Volksverrater' Casino would see later; for now he was too far away.

Casino lay in the tall grass, numb, gun clasped in his hand, watching the jeep pull away. He had to go closer, but that was one of the hardest things he could remember having to do. Three bodies, swaying gently. Three bodies he was too far away to identify yet. Vaguely he wondered who had escaped, or maybe who'd been killed elsewhere - size was tricky at a distance - was it Goniff or Garrison hanging there? Wondered if the missing one was still a captive in one of those trucks, knowing he didn't have any way to follow after anyway. 

Forcing himself to his feet, he moved forward, each step a battle, to come to a sudden halt, staring up at those battered lifeless bodies.

He though vaguely that he should cut them down, bury them, but he didn't have a knife or a shovel. Maybe there was something in the barn. Soon, he'd have to get up from where he sat in the grass, a dozen feet away from those bodies, and go check. But not yet. His legs just wouldn't hold him, not yet.

That was where they found him, pulling up in that stolen car, Chief at the wheel, Goniff beside him, Garrison and Actor resplendent in their officers' uniforms in the back. 

They got out, looked at the bodies, at him. Goniff and Chief came to him, dropped to their knees beside him. "Ei, mate. You okay? Don't look so good, you know," Goniff offered worriedly, casting a queasy look over his shoulder at those three limp forms. 

"Yeah, well, he looks better than them three. Pappy? Pappy, come on, say something," Chief urged.

Casino swallowed, looking at their familiar worried faces. His throat was tight, his eyes burned with tears he'd thankfully not had to shed. "Was too far away to see good; thought it was you guys," his voice having more of a rasp than even Goniff at his worst. "Was too far away to stop it. Got in range just as they yanked them up with that jeep."

Garrison and Actor were there now, "come on, Casino. Let's get you up and in the car. Let's get the hell out of here." Garrison's voice was low, firm but understanding.

Casino didn't move, just looked up blindly, wonderingly at the four of them, his team mates that he'd thought he'd never see again. "That sign. What does it say?"

"Volksverrater? It means 'traitor of the people'," Actor supplied.

Casino just nodded. It'd probably been a dumb question, not like it made any difference what the damned sign said. He was just not going to think about it, any of it, not now. Once in the car, he laid his head back against the seat, and tried not to think about anything other than the knowledge that his team mates, the Warden, were here, were okay, and they were finally going home.

And, yeah, on the trip back, Garrison treated them to a couple of good scolding sessions, about what they'd done wrong, or come close to doing wrong. Back at the Mansion, there was the Indian, perched in that window, staring off into space, doing that annoying, distracting thing he did with that damned blade of his, stroking it, over and over. The dumb Limey was cheating at solitaire again and chattering away about some nonsense. Well, he was til Beautiful took the floor, rhapsodizing over the 'exquisite Brueghel' the Germans had in that office, 'Brueghel the Elder, of course, not the Younger, his work is considered quite superior to his son's, you know.' That snooty, aloof voice was at its very best.

Casino sat back in his chair, sipping at the glass in his hand, a small smile on his face. "Ei, Casino, whatcha thinking about?" Goniff asked in an annoyingly perky manner.

"Nothin special, just thinking. Just . . . thinking." He looked around at all of them, at Garrison just coming in the door, Sergeant Major right behind him. Yep, just thinking - about what he'd thought he'd lost, about how it felt when he figured out he hadn't. Just thinking, and that smile grew to a satisfied, contented grin. Maybe thinking wasn't so overrated after all. At least, sometimes. Course, he didn't intend to make a habit of it.


End file.
